


Yeah, I've Heard You Sing, But It Ain't Too Well

by onward_came_the_meteors



Series: October 2020 Prompts [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT, MIT Era, One Shot, POV Third Person, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors
Summary: James is just trying to study.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Series: October 2020 Prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947679
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Yeah, I've Heard You Sing, But It Ain't Too Well

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5, for the prompt "rescue"

James Rhodes had heard stories of what college life typically included, but somehow he’d expected MIT to be different. At least on a night before an exam, anyway.

Nope.

James dropped his head into his hands, then decided that wasn’t good enough and dropped it onto the open textbook in front of him—the one he’d been trying to read for the past four hours but couldn’t concentrate on because of what sounded like the mother of all parties going on in the building next door. He could literally put his hand on the connecting wall and feel the vibrations from the thudding music that was blaring at top volume. 

_ If only my exam was in y(x,t)=y₀cos(w(t-x/c)). I’d be all set. _

Another shriek sounded from the open window, followed by shouts of laughter and someone turning the music up.

James wasn’t aware of slamming his textbook shut and standing up, but suddenly he was out of the room, heading down the stairs and out the front door.

The grass was wet from yesterday’s rain, and the night breeze was chilly enough that James wished he had a jacket, but he would only be here for a few minutes. Hopefully.

The building next door had to be the same size as his own, but the bright lights and people constantly going in and out made it seem bigger. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached, avoiding the gazes of the giggling cluster of people leaning on a car parked on the lawn. As he passed, one of them staggered and fell off, leading to another burst of laughter from their friends.

He squeezed his way past two more guys at the door, both of them wearing football jerseys and glossy eyes, and found himself in a room packed with more people than could possibly attend the school. It was even louder inside, but the crush of people was so thick that it took a few seconds of turning around awkwardly in the doorway to find out where the music was coming from.

One of the corners of the room was dedicated to a huge stereo system that was sitting haphazardly on a three-legged ping-pong table, probably deafening everyone within a five-foot radius. A bunch of people were dancing, but it was late enough that half the party had probably either disappeared upstairs or outside by now, leaving a gap in the crowd that gave James a perfect view of the person who was definitely one of the top contenders for “Person Making the Most Noise at This Party.”

He would earn this award in part because, yes, he did seem to be the one messing with the stereo volume, but also because he was singing loudly—and badly—into a half-empty plastic cup while swaying on top of a foosball table, his feet planted in between the blue and yellow wooden players.

James shook his head and was ready to approach—oh, hey, there was Dylan from Aerospace Studies, he should say hi—when the singer turned around and he noticed several things.

First, this kid was  _ young.  _ Like, James would be willing to bet he didn’t have a driver’s license young.

Second, this kid was absolutely, completely, wasted.

Third—well, to be honest, James’s brain had pretty much short-circuited after the first two, because here was a  _ kid  _ and  _ what was he doing here _ and  _ why does nobody else care about this? _

He pushed forward through the crowd, muttering “excuse me”s and “sorry, coming through”s to people who obviously couldn’t care less, until he was standing next to the foosball table.

The kid was still singing into the cup, words so slurred that James couldn’t make them out—were they even the words to the song that was playing?—and making wide, enthusiastic movements that some people might qualify as “dancing.” Every second James watched him, it only became more and more apparent that this kid shouldn’t be here.

Maybe he was someone’s little brother? There didn’t seem to be any older sibling in the crowd, nor did the kid bear a resemblance to anyone James knew. He was short, with brown hair flopping over his face and a grin that looked like it had been pasted on days ago and hadn’t fallen off yet (James knew how to recognize that face. It was exam week after all).

The song crescendoed before ending with a strong drumbeat, and in the quiet second before the next song, James called, “Hey!”

The kid opened his eyes and looked hazily around for a moment before his gaze dropped down to James. “C’mon, in a sec, this next song’s... really good.” He shook the cup in his head and liquid splashed over the side and onto his shirt.

James didn’t move. “What are you doing here?” He knew it was really none of his business—nobody else was saying anything about it, after all—but then again  _ how was this not his business  _ and  _ why was nobody else saying anything about it? _

The kid frowned. “Whas’it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re underage drinking.”

“Yeah? Go ‘n call the police.” The kid lurched backward a step before regaining his balance, nearly stepping on one of the wooden foosball figures around his feet.

James realized his arms had been outstretched to catch him and pulled them back. “I think it’s time for you to get out of here.”

The kid seemed to decide that standing was really not worth it and sunk down until he was sitting on the edge of the table, letting his legs dangle above the floor. Suddenly James had to bend his head down to make eye contact—not that the kid wanted to make eye contact. Everything in the room seemed to catch his attention and fling it around like one of those little red lasers people used to tease their cats: the one flickering lamp in the corner that glowed pink through the jacket someone had dumped on it (because just what this party needed was more fire hazards), the crunching noises as people shoveled through melting ice to get more drinks, the occasional bang that would come from somebody dancing into the side of a table and the hysterical drunk laughter that followed.

James snapped his fingers in front of the kid’s face to get his attention. “Hey. Did you hear what I said?”

The kid blinked. It was a slower process than it should have been, as though his eyelids were glued together. “But… but… this’s’so much fun…” The grin was back now in full force, even as he listed to the side and just barely caught himself with his palms. “Lighten up, buttercup.” This sent the kid into a burst of giggles as though it was the funniest joke ever made.

James glanced around the room again just in case he had somehow missed an older sibling or friend or some kind of  _ someone  _ that might actually have responsibility for this kid. Nope. 

“My name’s James,” he finally said, because honestly, he wasn’t sure what else to do. He wasn’t an RA, he was a very stressed-out freshman during exam week running on four hours of sleep and cafeteria coffee.

“Okay, Jimmy.” The kid went to take another drink from his cup, forgetting that most of it had spilled onto his shirt. “I think you know who I am.”

James frowned. What was that supposed to mean? He was almost entirely positive he’d never seen this kid before in his life, unless…

_ Hold up. _

“Are you that asshole from Cunningham’s class?” James had ended up there due to a scheduling error back in the fall and had only attended one lecture, but it was hard to forget the look on the professor’s face when a kid who looked like he’d gotten his braces off last year strolled in forty-five minutes late and proceeded to point out a mistake in the problem on the board—which wouldn’t have been so unusual in itself if the problem hadn’t been meant as an example of what they would have learned how to do by the  _ end  _ of the year.

_ Shit—he’s an actual student here. _ James didn’t have time to think through the implications of that before the kid was laughing again.

“That’s really th’first thing you... think of? Damn.”

“Well, what the hell else would I—” James stopped. He did know who this was. Because there was only one fourteen-year-old (asshole or otherwise) at MIT this year, and nobody had stopped talking—and complaining—about it for the entire first month. “You’re the Stark kid.”

“That’s me.” Tony Stark spread his arms in an exaggerated imitation of a magazine-cover pose, but overbalanced and fell off the table.

James caught him before he could hit the floor and hauled him back up, even though Stark’s feet didn’t seem to want to cooperate, sliding around like they were on an ice rink. “Okay, yeah, it’s time to go. Did you come here with anyone, like a friend or—”

“Don’ wanna go, though.” A warm head-sized weight settled against James’s shoulder and he wrinkled his nose at the alcohol breath, but kept holding him up. Stark kept making motions as though to pull away, but the act of standing was a bit beyond him in this state.

“Too bad. Where are you staying?”

“Mmph…”

_ Come ON. _ James looked around the room a final time, and made a split-second decision. He hoisted Stark up higher and slung an arm around him, then started to push his way back through the crowd of people, heading for the front door.

Stark didn’t protest, but he also wasn’t a huge help, staggering every other step and nearly pitching both of them onto the floor numerous times. James heard people laughing around them, but since it didn’t necessarily seem to be directed  _ at  _ them, he ignored it. If anybody noticed that this was Tony Stark leaving their party—an easy thing to notice, since the kid was not exactly being quiet—they didn’t react. One small positive.

Stark stirred against his shoulder as they stepped out into the cool night air, the slight breeze picking up the strands of his hair that were loose over his forehead. “Where’re… we goin’?”

“Just… keep in mind there aren’t a whole lot of options.”

* * *

Of all the ways that James had stressed out about something going wrong right before his exam, Tony Stark throwing up on his bed had not made the list, which in retrospect was a massive oversight.

The exam was the furthest thing from his mind, however, as he balled up the now-ruined sheets and tossed them into the corner, where they landed and threatened to fall off the top of the laundry pile that maybe hadn’t been emptied as recently as it should’ve been. Because now Tony Stark was in his dorm room, and not just that but a heavily intoxicated Tony Stark was in his dorm room, and not just that but a heavily intoxicated  _ fourteen-year-old human  _ was in his dorm room.

God, he was so glad his roommate was out of town.

James pressed his fingers to his forehead as Tony stared at the bed for a solid five seconds before going loose and face-planting square in the middle of the mattress. A muffled groaning sound followed a second later.

“I know what the answer’s gonna be, but are you sure there’s not anyone you want me to call?” James was sitting at his desk chair, which he had pulled away from the desk—still piled high with textbooks and scribbled notes and many other things that elicited a little screaming sound in his head—and turned to face the bed. 

“Nah.” The top of a forehead lifted up from the mattress. “I’ll be fine in a few… few… time is’it?”

James looked at the clock on his nightstand and immediately looked back away. “Late. I’m guessing that wasn’t the first college party you’ve been to?”

“Nope… why, was’it yours?” Tony couldn’t hold a straight face, and laughed so hard he almost rolled off the bed. Then he did roll off the bed, and James watched him with an unimpressed look.

“Isn’t there some kind of special code of conduct or whatever for minors?”

Tony picked himself up off the floor with difficulty. “You’re forgettin’... I’m Tony  _ Stark. _ ” He seemed to forget where he was going after that sentence and stared at the posters on the ceiling for a moment before continuing. “I can do… what I want.”

“Not when you’re fourteen.” James couldn’t help it.

“I’m _ fifteen _ , actually, my birthday was… two, three… three weeks’go.”

_ Fifteen.  _ God.

“So, what you’re basically saying is: even if you weren’t completely wasted—which you are, don’t bother denying it—”

“I never deny an’a’thin’.”

“—you wouldn’t be able to  _ drive yourself home. _ ”

“I could  _ totally _ … drive. If I wanted to. Don’t you hear ‘bout all my… genius and inventing and... stuff? Very… shiny awards about it.”

“I’m sure,” James said, because if he let Tony go on they’d probably be there all night. “But that’s not—do you seriously not understand what I was getting at? The point was you’re way too young to be going to parties like that. It’s not healthy.”

“Okay, Jarvis,” Tony grumbled.

“Who’s Jarvis?”

Tony mumbled something incoherent before struggling to push himself up into a sitting position on top of the bed. He fixed James with a look that probably would’ve been a lot more piercing if his eyes hadn’t been so glassy and unfocused. “Listen, Jamie-Jim. I’m only here for’a year so I can be’n MIT graduate an’ Dad can shove me into the company, okay? He doesn’t care what I do while I’m here, nobody… cares what I do while I’m here, I don’t care what I do while I’m here… so just… yeah.”

James rocked back on the legs of his chair. “Fine, suit yourself, but if you won’t tell me where you’re staying and apparently there’s no one to call to pick you up—which I find hard to believe but I’m not about to poke into your personal life—how exactly were you planning on getting home tonight?”

That genuinely seemed to stun Tony, whose eyes went wide and the pillow he’d been clutching against his chest fell out of his grip. He sat on the bed blankly for a long moment, his mouth open slightly as though waiting for words.

James watched him. He could practically see the little mechanical gears turning in his head.

Finally, Tony nodded to himself. “There’s a... shuttle on campus, isn’t there?” He said it like it was a term he’d heard, but was too distant to be entirely familiar with, the same way James imagined he would think about coupons and student debt. “‘Could just… that. Yeah.”

He made to stand up, but wobbled dangerously, and James barely had enough time to call out “Wait!” before Tony was on the floor.

Tony blinked at the rug now two inches away from his eyes. “Ow.”

James slid out of his chair and crouched down next to him. It was time for the second—third, more likely, fourth, quite possibly—bad decision of the night. “Okay.” Tony looked up at him blearily, and James steeled himself. “Look. I’m going to be studying for a little while longer anyway. My roommate’s out of town for the weekend. Why don’t you just…”

He gestured, and Tony followed his gaze to the empty bed. A million different answers seemed to pass over his face, but the one he settled on—maybe the only one he could manage aloud—was a whispered, “Thanks.”

James felt his face crack into a smile, something he didn’t think he was even able to do after cramming all night. “No problem. Just don’t puke again, or I might change my mind.”

Tony didn’t respond. In fact, there was a probable chance he hadn’t heard at all, since he was already passed out facedown on the bed, breathing softly into a pillow.

James meant it when he’d said he needed to study, but as he sat back down in front of his open textbook, the only thought on his mind was wondering how soon he could put in an application for a change in roommate.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
